Sweat Tongue

This Rotterdam quartet utilise guitar, drums, bass and voice (with the help of desk fans, ladders, and plastic cups) to create a fractured, warped take on the group sound, crawling though the gutter and up the trouser leg. Shards of broken rock and roll bump and swivel, hanging together in a field of disarray and gross splendor, working like vignettes into perverted worlds, mirroring our dark fantasies, shot through with improvised tales of sickness and sexual obsession delivered by vocalist Miss Blue-balls. Is the term No-Wave even applicable in 2016? We don’t know, but grinding, awkward, abject rock music aimed at the hips is still possible and feels pretty great.